


The Pet's King (working title)

by TheGirlWithNoIQ



Series: The King and His Pet [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Child Abuse, Derek's mother is a horrible person, Domestic Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, derek's uncle is too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4782665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWithNoIQ/pseuds/TheGirlWithNoIQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's POV of the happenings of 'The King's Pet'.<br/>The first chapter will be of his backstory + Derek and Stiles' first meeting<br/>The second chapter will be about their relationship onwards.</p><p>You don't have to read 'The King's Pet' before starting reading this, though it may give some hint about the world this fic is based on.</p><p>(This summary will most likely change)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, you may remember me talking(writing) about writing Derek's POV at the latest chapter of The King's Pet? If you did, well, here's the result. :D
> 
> I hope you will enjoy reading Derek's POV, and that you will maybe understand the way Derek is in the fic.  
> Please note that in this fic, Derek's mother is a horrible person. Peter too, but I don't think you need a warning for that. XD XP
> 
> With no further hindrance; Please read and enjoy~!

For all my life, I have always gotten what I wanted. Whether it been toys, clothes, food or anything really; maids and guards always were quick with giving me what I ordered to be placed in my room. I remember the very first time it was taken away from me.

When I was eight I was given a red toy-car from an old body-guard who was going to retire. Even if I had many toys at home who was much prettier than the tiny red car, I happily received it, thanking the man who’d protected me since I was baby, and got a hair-ruffle back. I played with the car every day; taking it with wherever I went; either it was to eat by the royal table, to class learning about being a prince, and when the time comes a king, to the bathroom to take a leak…literally everywhere I went I took the tiny red car with me.

When I was ten, my mother decided I was too old to play and ordered the servants to take my toys away from my private chambers. The only reason why the tiny red car wasn’t taken, was because I had it on me, and after the incident I was careful not to let my mother know I had it, hiding it in my pocket whenever she was near. But one day she found out; one day at dinner I wasn’t quick enough to hide the car away, and cold, stern eyes were glowing red at me; “What is that, Derek?”

I didn’t say anything but Cora, my younger sister who always wanted to please our mother, piped up, “Derek’s got a toy, mommy.”

And with a speed only an Alpha Queen could have, mother was behind me, taking the car out of my hands and crushed it right in front of me. Throwing the pitiful remains at me, mother gripped my bicep, dragged me off the chair and slapped me. “Do _not_ disobey me.”

I was afterwards escorted to my room, and was ‘imprisoned’ there for a week and a half with only bread and water. I learned to never be attached to anything.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

I was thrown into learning about royalty; customs, rules, history, traditions, expectations, and if mother found out I was slacking in class, failing a test, being rude to the boring as fuck teachers who didn’t know how to entertain a child, I was earned slaps; some with and some without claws. Mother drilled me at every dinner; ‘What have you learned today?’ ‘Tell me why red is the colour of the Court?’ ‘When did King Rick sign the Peace Treaty with the commoners?’ ‘Where is Queen Bechina burried?’

When I wasn’t learning about Royalty, I was either eating or sleeping, and I became distant with my once best friend/sister Laura. I trusted her more than I trusted my father or uncle, or any other in my family really, and didn’t dare ask anyone else what was happening when my body went through puberty.

I was caught kissing a girl with my hand on the insides of her top when I was thirteen, and my mother punished me by forcing me watch her slash the poor girl across the face with a clawed finger. The girl was afterwards fired, and moved to the other side of the country. My mother forbid me from having physical contact with anyone after that, and I wasn’t allowed to be alone with anyone under the age thirty.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

After the incident with the girl, I became very pissed at mother. A hate grew from within me; and I knew my mother was not my mother anymore. She couldn’t be. Not that she was originally, as she had not an inch inside of her that told her I was her son. Some people would argue that it was because she only sired me, and didn’t carry me for eight months like my father did, but I knew my grandmother loved her children very much, much more than her Omega, grandfather ever did, and that even though he carried them.

I knew my mother didn’t love me, not as much as she loved her other children; and even if that thought hurts me, I have always accepted it. Even though I did, it didn’t mean that I was going to show her it.

The first time I escaped the castle, was proximally three months since the girl got her ragged, red scar. I managed to sneak out the window in my sister’s room, claiming to the guards that I had lost a sweater and a pen inside when they refused to let me enter. I had jumped out the window, used the werewolf side of me to hold into flags and other shit-shat until I safely enough managed to land on the ground. Not wasting a single moment, I dashed off, hearing the alarm as guards realised I was gone right after I had exited the castle’s grounds.

They found me over an hour later, riding down a road on an abandon shopping cart, having the time of my life by the shocked expressions people were sending my way when they saw me fly past them. My mother became murderous, punishing the guards who had ‘let this boy escape’ as she put it, before locking me into my private chambers, turning off the heat and only leaving me with bread and water for the whole November.

For some reason unknown to me I found Deaton with the shopping cart when I was allowed to leave my ‘prison’, using it to store books and other shit-shat the doctor seemed to have. I never asked him, and he never told me why he’d taken it in the first place. I always think it’s for the best… -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

I escaped many times after the first time; enjoying the sense of freedom, of never having to act as ‘royalty should’, of not seeing the thinly hidden hate mother showed me when not in public. No matter how much I tried I was always found, and the people working with Royalty scandal had their hands full trying to tell the citizens that they didn’t see the crown prince hunt a squirrel, steal candy from a shop, kiss a young girl or boy, help a child find its mother or father, turn into a wolf in broad daylight… the list went on and on…

The punishments increased from being locked inside my room, to getting whipped on my back, getting clawed by my mother, getting shackled to the wall inside one of the prison-cells and left there with only the clothes I had on for days, and with only water to sedate my hunger. I have always despised the rules I, as the crown prince, had to follow; always despised that everything I did, people saw and judged me by, that people only saw me as the crown prince, as ‘lord’, as ‘young prince’ as everything else but ‘Derek’.

My mother’s hate of me seemed to increase every time she sensed my presence, and my actions didn’t do much help at all. Every time she caught me, her punishments became worse and more often than not could I not lay down in bed; my back hurt too much.

Then came the Hale fire.

My father and my younger siblings went away from the castle because they found it too stifling with the tension between the Queen and her oldest son, and camped miles west of the castle. Suddenly it was a forest fire, and they became surrounded, and was dead long before firemen even came to the scene. In total over forty royalty, servants, guards and others died, though only twenty people was confirmed; many remains were beyond recognition.

My mother fell apart by the news, even more when we learned somebody had started the fire, and that it was impossible to figure out who. The first so extravagantly clothed mother began wearing black and black only; and she spent most of the time in her private chambers, only leaving when someone had to be judged by her; otherwise, she passed on her work to her brother, my uncle Peter, or someone else she trusted with the task. No one saw her, only her private chambermaid who never told anyone how the Queen was. For two and a half years, the public accepted the absence of the Queen, as they all could understand or feel her loss. But as the third year passed, some of them began to stir, while others silently watched what happened with anticipation. It was in the third year of my mother’s absence that I met Stiles.

Beacon Hills was a tiny, tiny place only the inhabitants called a city. I can remember being there in my earliest memories, playing hide and seek with Laura around the woods and… I don’t really know how it was possible, but I took one of the bodyguard’s cars, picked up a bike that I found somewhere on the road, and drove till I came to my goal. I parked the car in one of the neighbouring cities to get a few more minutes more before the guards found me, and bicycled easily the way to Beacon Hills. I practically flew through street after street, enjoying the rush of people’s everyday life as I easily maneuverer past them quick enough for them not to note who I am. Due to my werewolf-senses, I reacted quickly when I became close to an obstacle.

But somehow… when I heard the bell when a door was opened… why didn’t I react..? I crashed into someone, bike and all, and I could hear the ‘ouch’ when that someone hit the pavement. My eyes flew up and… W O WBrown eyes and a face full of moles…no, scratch that, the moles were everywhere I could see… and trust me, I could see a lot.

Shorts short ( _heheh, shorts short_ ) enough to be called booty shorts, flashing gorgeous not sun touched thighs for the world. He was wearing a loose, grey t-shirt that flashed his stomach during the collision, showing me a cute tummy typical for a young teenage boy. Hell, he can’t be older than 16, if he is I will be surprised. And worried. Especially worried. It was the rage I could feel flowing out of him in waves that made me freeze, that made my heart flutter and I truly, truly looked at the boy in front of me.

His lips moved, making sounds that turned into words, which turned into sentences I barely cared to link together. Whatever he said, it sounded like he was cursing me- no wait, he’s talking about his best friend, no- a 98 year old lady?- who knows; the only thing I knew was that he suddenly stopped. He looked terrified. _"I-I-I-I’m s-so sorry master—L-L-Lord Derek Hale! I-I-I am so deeply sorry for offending you, a-and I hope you will f-forgive an s-stupid fourteen year old fool.”_ He began to talk more, quicker, more scared as if he expected me to kill him right then and there and-

_How many times have I experienced this right here…? Everybody are afraid of me, and no matter how many times I try, people still believe I will hurt them._ The young boy moved then, stepping slowly away with shaking legs as he distanced himself from the future King. I just stood there, letting the boy slowly get away from me, and didn’t move, even when he turned the nearest corner. Letting out a small sigh, I picked up my bike, and began to follow the boy’s steps; thrusting my nose to lead the way. Some places, the boy took a breather, and his fear increased at those places, itching my nose in that familiar way, as I have smelled fear before. I found his home in the end, and after noting the address, I sat on the bike and cycled away from Beacon Hills.

Bodyguards caught me eventually, and they wordlessly sent me down to the cells, knowing the drill by now. It was during my six-month imprisonment that I ordered my most trusted body guard, Vernon Boyd, to look after Stiles Stilinski (I first asked him to find out who lived there, and what the name of the boy was), and to make sure everything goes alright with the young boy brave enough to curse at me, and to update me if anything happens to the boy I saw as a friend.

It was also amidst my imprisonment that my Uncle made his move.

 

Peter Hale, the younger brother of Queen Talia Hale, began to stir up the country in the third year of my mother’s absence. Using the internet as his weapon, he began to make people angry and question why the Queen hadn’t gotten a grip off herself, even three years after her mate’s death. During my imprisonment, people began to riot, and my uncle used the attention the riot got of the news, and the many soldiers and bodyguards guarding the castle, to make his way to my mother’s private chambers, trick her out of her solitude by telling her what’s currently happening.

Leading my mother till the front of many news reporters and cameras, my uncle famously asked one of the nearest cameramen “Is this filming right now?”, and after getting an affirmative, he slit my mother’s throat, ensuring two important things; killing my mother and gaining the power to possibly become the next royalty of the kingdom, and quieting any doubts of the identity of my mother’s killer.

The murder was on the news for months; showing the way my uncle’s nails turns to claws, the shocked expression of my mother when she realises what her trusted brother was going to do, and the red fluid flying out of the thin, long cut across my mother’s throat. As you may assume, the murder changed a lot in this very country.

As neither a Queen nor a King had be murdered in 277 years, the book of Royalty law where picked up, and each law was looked on, questioned if the law was old-fashioned, and needed to change/become rewritten. The debate lasted for eight months, and ended in a somewhat truce; since the late Queen had an Heir/heiress of age, that someone would take the throne, regardless of my Uncle’s doing. My sister Laura, twenty-one at the time of my mother’s death, while I was nineteen, had no thoughts of becoming a Queen, though had no plans of entrusting it to Peter, as she saw him as a traitor, and in the end accepted the role of the new Queen.

The 23rd of May it happened the following year, Laura Hale shakily took the stage as the new Queen, and her voice was shaky as she said her speech to the dozens of TV-reporters and invited guests together in the throne hall. The Media became crazy the following days after the crowning; reporters making fun of the young Queen, and my sister, who’d always shied away from the press and what it may entail, became thrusted into doing more speeches at important dates of our country’s history, and showing herself to the public much more than she had originally wished. Every harsh word against my sister; either on the internet, on TV, newspapers… hurt her. She began to look sad, and the make-up artists had troubles hiding her ever-growing black rings under her eyes. Her first so beautifully shining thick hair became to become thinner, as she lost more and more hair, and all due to stress.

The 4th of December Queen Laura Hale was found dead inside her private chambers, lying in her bed as if she was asleep, a half-empty bottle of pills lying next to her. The country grieved, as it was custom, for six months before they publically spoke about the new King/Queen. Only the weekly Stiles-updates from my most trusted men and women made my own sorrow bearable.

I was soon turning 21 at the time when the discussion came up; Should Derek Hale, a troublemaker and not even 21, lead a country, or should a more experienced, though with questionable morality as his Uncle, Peter Hale, take the throne? The question turned to a long, long debate, which lasted long enough for me to turn 21. At that time, it was decided the kingdom needed a ‘safer, older person that was not a troublemaker’ as they so nicely put it, and my Uncle was said to take the throne.

The crowning took place, not coincidentally, the 4th of December, exactly one year after my sister’s death. After the crowning, at the high-classed dinner celebrating the new leader of the country, my once dear uncle, while drunk might I add, told me that he killed Laura, that he was going to kill me, and that he was going to do it after he had forced me watch Stiles become his Pet.

It was the mention of Stiles’ name that made me snap, and not long after uttering the last word, was King Peter Hale’s head on the other side of the throne-room; and if anyone still doubted Peter Hale murdering his sister, no one, _no one_ doubted me killing him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, *looks at date* Oh god! I'm immensly sorry for not updating for like a month! Wait, *checks date again* for over a month! O.o  
>  I was hit with a mayor writing-block, and despite knowing it's better to just write and edit later, I completely ignored this chapter.   
>  I forced myself to finish it a few days ago and despite deleting scene after scene because I didn't know what to write... I am somewhat happy with it now.  
>  Don't misunderstand; I WILL edit this chapter at a later time. I admit this is not my best work. But I don't want you to wait forever so... :p
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this fic! I'm grateful beyond words and I'm deeply sorry for not replying to all your comments.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading this fic, and I hope you can enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Thank you all for your support! :D
> 
> Read and enjoy~!

A warm body was lying on me, and if it had been anyone else, I would have thrown them across the room. But I knew who it was, warming me with his heat alone and I will never let him go.

_Stiles…_

**My** Stiles….

A smile tugged at my lips and I let it show, knowing we were alone in the barely lit room. A long while have passed since my Stiles fell asleep and my knot had deflated after our first of many matings to come, but I showed no signs of moving, enjoying the weight on me as I could once again smell the unique smell of Stiles.

Oh god I had missed it.

Neither the few moments I had smelled him when we first met, nor the unwashed t-shirts I got the guards to get me eased my hunger for him. The smell actually made my more animal side wilder and less easy to control.

I had no idea where the thought came from that told me to fuck others. That told me to ease my hunger on people that was within reach, and that wanted me as much as cat wants fish. It eased my hunger somewhat, I can honestly admit it, sleeping with someone usually tends to sate people physically after all. My wolf-ier side though fought the mere thought of sleeping with someone else than Stiles, and it seemed like after every sexual act I did with somebody else, my wolf wanted my Stiles more.

I had one rule that people I had fucked knew very well; this is a one-time thing. Everybody in the castle knew it, and made sure to explain the many hopefuls wanting a night with a crown prince. One refused to listen to the rules and came back to me though… who sent me letter after letter, who seeked an audience every time she got, who refused every denial I said. If I had known that the person that broke my one night-rule would a year later harm my future Pet and Omega, I would have killed her. It’s as easy as that.

No one, _no one_ hurts my mate and gets away with it.

When Deaton told me who had hurt my Mate I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell. I wanted to kill. I am going to kill. Mr Meller.

 _Paige_ Meller.

Paige, the only one I slept with more than once. The only one I slept with in my private chambers…

She and her dad planned to harm my mate. She and her dad harmed him and planned to leave the country. They didn’t. My guards found them. They’re in the cells now, awaiting my judgement. They will never leave the cells alive.

Stiles whined in his sleep as he unconsciously scented my incoming rage and as quickly as it came, my anger left me and I hugged my mate closer to me, once again realising that Stiles was here; Stiles was **mine.** -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

I watched the old woman in front of me with a calculating look in my eyes. Was the woman telling the truth, or was she the mastermind behind it all? I listened to her heart while she told her tale; about a drunkard of a husband that bet away all their money, and got many debts. Only when he passed a year ago did the men step forward and demanded the widow’s estate in payment. Her heart didn’t increase quickly and I just knew she told no lie. I looked down at the document, dwelling for a moment before I wrote my name at the bottom, stamping it with the Royal sigl and silently giving it to her afterwards.

“T-thank you, thank you so much, my King!” said the elder woman with teary eyes, looking at the document she had in her hands with wide eyes. I nodded in dismissal when she finally found the mind to bow in gratitude and I watched with lazy eyes as she was escorted out of the Throne room together with the signed document ensuring she wouldn’t lose her estate to greedy debt-collectors. “Next.” I commanded, hiding a sigh, hoping it soon was over. The only thing I wanted was to come home to my mate.

 -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 _“..and a lot of people have thrown garbage in the Brightwood Lake. Not only does all the garbage poison the lake, but it also destroys the nature as it decreases the living area of the famous Brightwood frog, only found in Brightwood-“_ I looked up as I heard the door open, watching my mate practically stumble inside with what seemed like a dozen book in his hands.

Every time I looked at him my heart stutters, a tingle flashes through me and I feel like a 13 year old getting their first crush. Though, when watching the sight in front of me, who could blame me? A shirt (my shirt) barely buttoned as the baby-stomach threatened to pop them to the end of the Earth. Flushed cheeks, cute dimples, shaggy hair indicating it was left untouched for maybe far too long, brownie-eyes hidden by bangs, sexy legs under far too big sweat pants. . . I would die happily with this view to my memory. I am not even joking, because honestly I would.

Stiles muttered to himself while he slammed the many books into the dining table before profusely striding in my direction and plopping down onto my lap. Which would have been nicer if Stiles weight wasn’t added with the baby stomach’s. Only a growl left me as he landed on me, and I was immensely grateful for my werewolf side as if I hadn’t it I would have broken a couple of bones. “Sorry,” Stiles said though didn’t sound sad at all, and began unbuttoning his shirt immediately. I was about to do the same, though stopped when I didn’t scent any arousal.

“God, why can’t you have bigger shirts…” My wolf-ier side let out a whine as I saw the marks the buttons made on his skin, especially where the stomach was at its widest. “Rough day?” I asked, moving the report I was reading onto a nearby table with one hand as I realised I wasn’t going to read anything anytime soon, while the other took away any pain he felt.

Stiles sighed, practically sinking into me while he closed his eyes, “Scott’s been annoying me with baby names all day, and less than half of them is actually names. Earlier he shouted ‘Grizzlybear’ from the other side of the hall, and Erica and the others heard him, so now they too are finding baby names.” A snort left me before I could stop it, and my mate hit me playfully on the shoulder. “The only reason why they aren’t annoying you is because everyone is afraid of you.”

“As they should be,” I said, though hesitated, “…Are you afraid of me?”

Stiles reacted immediately, “No, of course I’m not! I’m not afraid of you, Derek.” He ended calmly, and to my relief I heard he told the truth. Tension I didn’t know I had left my shoulders, and I quietly kissed the side of his mouth, ‘Thank you, Stiles.’ Was there, though not spoken. A moment went by in chosen silence, as both of us enjoyed the heat the other gave.

“Why do you have so many books?” I regretted even asking as I felt him tense up in sudden agitation.

“Deaton. Just Deaton.” I nodded silently as though it explained it all, and frankly, it did. “He gave me a lot of books telling me how it was going to be during birth. Many of them are illustrated, and I will tell you have a bigger penis than that!- Does he really think I would want to read how a baby is coming out through my ass!? The only thing I want to know is that it’s _getting_ out, the ‘how’ is unneeded.” He crossed his arms, indicating he was done with the case, and glared at me. “What?” he asked, looking at me annoyed when he looked at my raised eyebrows.

I was careful of how I ordered my next sentence, knowing Stiles had a short fuse, especially now. “Deaton probably did it because he is a doctor… Normally the child carrier want to know how the labour is going to be, you know, so that they know what to expect.” Stiles’ look told one thing and one thing only; if I didn’t shut up, he’s going to kill me. “Though,” I quickly continued, backtracking my words, “Over ten books is far too many. I will talk to him about that.”

His glare deepened and suddenly he exploded, “’ _Over ten books is far too many’_? _You ‘Will talk to him about that.’_ Just _that?!_ Is that the _only_ thing you find wrong with what I _just said?_ You idiotic, stupid, IQ-less, old, moronic- _mph_ ,” Lips met lips and our tongues crashed together for a never-ending time before my mate finally managed to break away, “-…brainless airhead! I can’t even understand why I keep up with you.” He shook his head, and I tried hard to fight off my grin.

An angered Stiles was sexy and oddly calming at the same time. “And FYI, it’s only three books about labour and such, the rest is porn, and if that isn’t enough it’s ‘pregnant male omega on male Alpha mate’-porn.”

I saw my Stiles lips move as he spoke, moving quicker as he began a tirade, though I wasn’t listening at all. it was as if my hearings left me, and my eardrum was full of ice. I didn’t hear a thing. The only thing I was focused on was the last word he said.

“…Porn.”

“….-what is wrong with this doctor, Derek? What person okay-ed his doctor practice? Where does his ideas come from and- wait, what?”

“Did Deaton give you porn… again? Pregnancy porn? Guy on guy-porn?”

Stiles blinked.

I blinked.

“Y-yes…” my mate began hesitantly, confused by my questioning. 

"Does the position vary in each book? Are they creative with positions? Did you get any ideas on how we can fuck when your baby stomach grows larger? How far is the pregnancies in the books-“

 _“Wait-wait-wait Derek!_ I-I haven’t read it! Do you believe I would read it in Deaton’s office? I went straight home a-a-and its too-“ A light kiss stopped his words, and a small laugh left me as I saw how embarrassed he looked. “You’re probably the one of the few that gets shyer of porno than the real deal.”

Stiles gaped, “W-what?” His redness went to his ears. “I-I do not! I’m not shy at all! S-shut up, stupid wolf.” Another laugh left me, and if any of my muscles were tense before, they were all soft now. “I’ve missed you, mate. It’s good to have you home, with me.”

Stiles moved to a more comfortable position as he sent me a loving look. “I’ve missed you to.” He gave me a kiss, “my Mate.”

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? I hope you like it. :)
> 
> I have no idea, when the second (and last) chapter will be posted (I haven't really began writing it yet...)


End file.
